Master Plan
by irmaida
Summary: Or: four times Cato saved Clove and one time he didn't. AU, for Ella.


_Master Plan_

summary: Or: four times Cato saved Clove and one time he didn't. AU, for Ella.

**four**

Cato is five years old, and it's snowing.

"Can I play, Mom?" he asks eagerly. "Even the Academy is closed today! The weatherman is saying that this is the most snow District Two has seen in years! You have to let me play!"

His mother rubs her head, tired of listening to her son's pleas. "Okay then. Go out there."

"Yes!" he exclaims with a fist pump. He picks up a small jacket—perhaps too thin for such cold temperatures—but he's Cato, so it doesn't matter. He looks at his mother, who's examining her nails, and knows that she doesn't really think it matters either. He does, however, put on a pair of gloves. Gloves are essential for snowball fights.

The best snow, according to all his friends, is the one on top of the hill. It's a very, very big hill—quite a climb—but he's young and strong, and it's easy for him.

"What took you so long?" his friend Theto asks. "The rest of us have all been waiting for you for _ages_!"

"Sorry," he said. "My mom wouldn't let me. But I'm here now!"

The next thing he knows, he's being bombarded by snowballs. He shrieks, "No fair!" and, since he hasn't had a chance to make snowballs yet, uses his brute strength—he's always been the biggest, after all—to tackle one of the boys.

Theto shouts, "Let's play Hunger Games!" And that's all it takes for the top of the hill to just become a mess. Punches and snowballs are thrown, boys wrestle on the ground in snow and mud, and their language is rather appalling for a group of five-year-olds. But Cato's having the best fun of his life. He crashes his friend Damien's fort and steals a couple of snowballs. He finds a big one and starts rolling on more snow to make it even bigger. And then he's attacked from the side, and the snowball rolls away and goes down the hill.

They fight for a little longer after that, but they're all tired so they decide to call it quits. "To be continued," declares Cato. Then he smirks. "Until I win."

"_Look at that snowball!_" someone suddenly exclaims. It's Theto, pointing at a giant ball that's just rolling down the hill.

Cato vaguely remembers thrashing around and accidentally kicking that snowball and now it's rolling down the hill and it's _gigantic_. He watches it roll for a while, amazed that something so small could get so enormous so fast, when he realizes that someone is at the foot of the hill, directly in the path of the ball.

Just as he notices, the other boys do. "Watch out!" they scream. The person at the bottom, however, obviously didn't hear them.

"What if we kill him?" asks Damien, his voice fearful. It's one thing to wrestle with each other and shoot arrows at a dummy, and another thing entirely to actually kill someone.

"That's ridiculous; it's just a snowball…" Cato mumbles, but he actually is scared. And that's _his _snowball and it'll be his fault. And then he's rushing down the hill, running and rolling over.

"Watch out!" he screams, but the boy doesn't hear so of course he does what he normally does. He tackles him.

The snowball rolls by, both of them safe.

"What was that, man?" hisses the boy, his voice slightly muffled, pushing Cato off.

"What do you mean _what was that_?" he grumbles. "I saved your life!" He gestures towards the snowball, which has finally slowed to a stop and sits placidly.

"I don't need you saving my life!" he yells defensively.

Cato glares at the boy—really looks at him for the first time—and has a double take. First of all, he's a girl. Erm, she's a girl. A small little girl with short choppy black hair and eyes that glare even harder than his. And then he recognizes her.

"Hey, you go to the Training Academy, don't you?" he asks.

"Yeah," she answers.

He smirks. "You wanna wrestle some day? You seem to have potential to be worthy competition… for a girl."

She leers. "Oh, it's on—hey, what's your name?"

"Cato."

"Cool. My name's Clove."

**.**

As the years pass, he and Clove develop an odd reluctant partnership, which makes sense to Cato. It fits in perfectly with his master plan, after all—his master plan to win the Hunger Games. He grows to depend on her and know her so that in the Games, they will be the perfect allies. They will be formidable and perfect together. But he also prepares himself for the moment he knows is coming—the moment where he will kill her. Or she'll kill him, but he doubts that's going to happen.

So he and Clove grow to _know _each other, but he always holds back a bit. And he knows that she's doing the same. They aren't stupid. They're Careers. They're District Two.

**.**

Once, just once, she lets him see behind her exterior.

They're on the train going to the Capitol, and they've stayed up late together, on the sofa in one of the train's rooms. They both have irregular sleep patterns, having spent too many nights training.

Clove yawns. She's tired, even if she would never admit it. Cato is about to comment, when he yawns too.

"We should go to bed," Cato says. "I mean, they don't have a proper training area here anyway."

Clove smirks. "Tired? Think of this as practice for when we have to take shifts and watches in the actual Games. But if you're too tired…"

"I'm not tired," he interrupts.

"Mm-_hmm_." She doesn't believe him, of course. Cato rolls his eyes. There's no use in trying to convince Clove.

They sit in silence for a while, when Clove suddenly asks, "Hey, Cato, will you promise me something?"

"What, Clove?" he asks, rather exasperated. What could she possibly want?

"This is probably never going to happen, but in the _small _chance that you do, kill me well, okay?"

"Huh?" He thinks it's a joke at first, but he's never seen Clove look more earnest. He looks into her eyes, wide and pleading and slightly fearful. He would normally tease her for looking afraid, but he recognizes the look. It's the look he's been seeing in the mirror ever since he was Reaped.

Clove sighs and explains, "Torture me. Put on a good show. You're a Career. You're District Two. I swear, if you just stab me in the back or something… My soul will never forgive you. You know, if this happens. Which it never will."

A slow grin spreads across his face as he comes to understand. "All right, Clove. Just remember that you asked for it when you're begging me for mercy."

"That will _never _happen, Cato. This is all purely hypothetical."

He raises his eyebrows. "All right then. Promise me something too. In the very, _extremely_ hypothetical possibility in which _you're_ the one killing _me_, put on a good show, okay?"

She smiles and looks him in the eyes as she says, "I promise."

They punch each other's knuckles. They promise.

They are Careers. They're District Two.

Nothing will get in the way of their master plan.

**three**

"Three… two… one!"

With those three words, the Games have started.

In a moment, he's off his platform and rushing towards the Cornucopia. There's a stringy boy in his way, which he simply knocks away with his hands. He's almost there, at his weapon, when suddenly some random non-Career boy gets in his way. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, except that he's holding a sword—the sword, _Cato's _weapon! The other boy wields it with obviously unskilled hands, but, as Cato has no weapon at all, there's still a chance that—

And then, all of a sudden, the boy falls to the ground, a knife sticking out of his back. Clove smiles wickedly from behind and pulls the knife out.

"You're welcome," she says with a sweet smile as a cannon booms.

Cato pries his sword out of the now-dead boy's hands and slices off the head of the girl that was trying to sneak up on Clove.

"_You're _welcome," he says, mirroring her smile as another cannon booms.

Clove scowls. "That was unnecessary."

"You always say that," he grunts.

**two**

The Games are not going as planned. At all.

On the bright side, Lover Boy is most likely dead, although his face hasn't showed up in the sky yet. Cato's proud to have done his job well. He's left the boy to die slowly—and painfully—in the creek. Not even Clove can criticize him.

But on the other hand, Marvel's dead. The District Three boy's dead. Their food stock has been completely blown up. The only thing left of the all-mighty Career Alliance is him and Clove.

This had _not _been part of his master plan. Not. He'd been planning for a traditional Games—one when the Careers killed everyone else and then turned on each other. Now, there are issues like _food _that he has to worry about. All because of _her_.

It's nighttime, again. But this time, Clove is not awake with him. Clove is asleep, having entrusted him to keep watch. He sits tensely and watches Clove sleep. She looks calm and peaceful and soft, eyes closed instead of wary and bloodshot. All defenses are gone; she even seems to have loosened her grip on the knife she always holds.

The thought hits him out of the blue. _He could kill her_.

There are only six of them left—five, actually, since Peeta's practically a dead man. At this point, he _should _kill her. He'll eventually have to do it anyway. And right now, she's so vulnerable and asleep and—

He can't do it. His hands are shaking. He suddenly tries to imagine her reaction if she caught him in the middle of such an act. _Killing me while I was sleeping? Cato, you're District Two! I thought you'd give the Capitol a better show!_

So he doesn't kill her. Even if it goes against his master plan. He tries to tell himself that it's just because he wants to give the Capitol a better show, but even he knows that it's because he may be in just a _bit _too deep with Clove.

Simple errors lead to catastrophes. He feels like that snowball, a mess just getting bigger and bigger.

**.**

_Two of them can survive._

With that simple announcement, his entire master plan is flipped upside down.

He looks at Clove. For once, the girl is speechless. Her mouth is open, and her eyes are shining.

"Clove, are you okay?" he asks when he's assembled his own thoughts. "Never thought I'd live to see this day…"

The girl grins and suddenly lets out a loud whoop. "Victor's crown, here we come!"

Cato laughs, forgetting about how they're hungry and in an arena and have probably scared away any lurking tributes. To be honest, he's rather wary about this rule change. He knows that the rule change isn't for them—it must be for the Star-Crossed Lovers of District Twelve. He's been training all his life, and it's just in his nature to be skeptical. The rule change completely goes against everything about the Hunger Games and his nature.

But for once, Clove, who is usually the cynical one, only laughs along. He wonders if she's just guarding her worries very well, but he sees her bright eyes and somehow he knows that she really isn't worried at all. "Cato, seriously! There's no way we're going down now."

"What if it's a ploy?" he asks.

"A ploy?" Her forehead crinkles in confusion. "That's ridiculous, Cato. We're invincible!" she hollers. "Here we come!"

He likes the way she says _here we come_. Something surges through Cato—more than confidence and happiness. Perhaps something like hope. Or something more.

**one**

He hears her screams—_Cato! Cato!—_just in time.

He doesn't hesitate in the least bit as he barrels towards the boy from Eleven and forces him to release his grip on Clove. Within a moment, he's dead.

And then Clove finishes up her job with the pesky Girl on Fire. Cato watches detachedly as Clove tortures the girl before plunging her knife into Twelve's heart.

"Not bad, Clove," he says. "Two down. Who's left now?"

"Lover Boy, who's to be dead soon, and Five," she replies. "And what do you mean _not bad_? My kill was way better than what you did with Eleven. Honestly, Cato, what did I tell you about torture?"

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

But he knows she's grateful—it's just routine for Clove to never thank him. He sees the shine in her eyes as she offers her fist for him to punch. But instead of just punching her fist, he unexpectedly envelops her in a hug. It suddenly hits him how close _she_ was to death and how close _they _are to winning.

For a second, Clove stiffens in his arms, and it seems as if she'll push him away. But she relaxes soon enough. "There, there, Cato," she whispers. Her tone is light and teasing, but there's something truthful and heartfelt in it. "We'll be home soon."

**zero**

"She's got to be here somewhere," she grumbles. "I mean, this is the only place where there's water. Five is sneaky, but even she needs to drink."

Cato nods but inwardly feels like screaming. They're literally one kill away from winning. Why can't they just get this over with? He's tired of the grime and stress of the arena. He wants to go home. Now.

"There she is!" he suddenly exclaims as the redheaded girl comes rushing towards the pond, her face grimy and her eyes wild. But she's not alone. She's being chased by a mutt: this crazy freakish mutt.

They watch as, all of a sudden, the girl simply collapses, and the mutation leaps onto her. It's grotesque and bloody and savage, but at least it's too occupied with the redheaded girl to focus on Cato and Clove. He looks away and waits for the cannon to boom.

And boom it does. It barely takes five minutes. He didn't even have to kill another person. Thank goodness.

"Cato, we won!" shrieks Clove. Cato thinks something's wrong. There's no fanfare, no announcement. But Clove doesn't seem worried, so he doesn't worry either. Clove always thinks everything through.

This time Clove is the one that hugs him. She even drops her knife as she squeezes him and whispers in his ear, "I told you, Cato, we're invincible!"

He hugs her back. He feels… _happiness. _Hope. Maybe even—

**.**

And then Caesar ruins it with his new announcement. "Sorry, but on closer inspection of the rules, there cannot be two Victors, even if they are from the same District."

It doesn't surprise him too much. He knows the rule change was never meant for them. But it—well, it hurts. Somehow, a tiny part of him had actually grown to believe that maybe he and Clove both had a chance, and now, while he's logically not confused at all, it _hurts_.

He looks at Clove. She looks equally as shocked—even more shocked than him. She blinks, not processing it.

"W-what?" He's never seen Clove look so entirely _helpless_. She steps out of Cato's arms and backs up, towards the Cornucopia, blinking.

Cato has to remind himself. He's a Career. He's District Two. He has to win this.

And so he takes advantage of Clove's moment of shock. And he barrels towards her. In one moment, he has her pinned, and he has his sword across her neck, in position to kill.

She struggles, but it's futile. She doesn't even have a weapon on hand, and Cato has always been able to overpower Clove when it comes to brute strength.

"Cato," she whispers, in a voice so quiet that he doubts not even the camera microphones can pick it up. "Please." Her voice is not beseeching and helpless, but rather, stone cold and resolved.

His mind flashes back to when he'd promised her that if he ever came in a situation when he could kill her, he would give the Capitol a good show.

He sees her now—cold, resolved, ready to put up a good fight and give a good show, even when he's about to kill her.

But he is a coward, and he can't do it.

He can't bring himself to physically hurt her any more than necessary. The thought of killing her alone is suddenly ripping him apart and to torture her would only be torture to him.

He is a coward, so in one fluid moment, he kills her. The cannon booms. It's that fast—no torture, no show, no pain.

And then Caesar announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

**.**

_I swear, if you just stab me in the back or something… My soul will never forgive you. _

She wasn't lying.

(He never forgives himself either.)

* * *

Terrible ending…

Erm, yeah, for Ella! I hope you liked it. (I don't like it.) I'm sorry it's kind of choppy and stuffs.


End file.
